The Night Before Christmas – WWII Navy Style By Gary Edmisten
‘Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the ship,
The whole crew was stirring, was it time to fight Nips?
The klaxon had sounded, General Quarters – All Hands!
That was the order, all stations be manned.
The crew was all hustling on every deck,
Get quick to that gun mount for a fast weapons check!
Medics to the Ward Room, radiomen in their shack,
The radar sees something, CIC plotting its track.
The Skipper on the bridge, the XO on watch,
Oh, what he’d give now for a good slug of Scotch.
All guns were now turning, as Fire Control aimed,
The way things were going this didn’t look tame.
The crew was thinking on this ship of gray,
Would they be soon in the thick of a fray?
And on this the most special of nights,
Douse the smoking lamp, black out all lights!
When up in the air arose such a clatter,
The crew looked up to see what was the matter.
IFF showed it friendly, the call was “Stand By,”
The tense moment broken, in relief they did sigh.
Away from the distance they flew like a flash,
At this time of night that was certainly brash.
Above were seen planes of discernable sorts,
A black PBY and eight fighter escorts.
Moonbeams reflecting from over the sea,
Set the stage now for what next they would see.
More rapid than eagles his escorts they flew,
They dipped their wings once and then flew out of view.
The PBY landed alongside the ship,
The pilot acknowledged a hell of a trip.
Through poor weather and Zeros just to get here,
His plane was full loaded, his mission was clear.
The excitement still lingered, but what could it mean?
They watched quite intently, their interest was keen.
A jumpsuited pilot and his wings of gold,
It must be St. Nick the crew was all told!
“Secure General Quarters” everyone heard,
And reference to Christmas then was proffered.
So far from home, and their loved ones apart,
What next would ensue was straight from the heart.
The Captain’s launch lowered, the Coxswain did steer,
To fetch this brave pilot and all of his gear.
Cotton rolls from sick bay were used for his beard,
His cape, a red signal flag, surely endeared.
A bundle of mail he had flung on his back,
Too long in its coming, and that was a fact.
He wasn’t really Santa, but tonight he would do,
To hand out some goodies to all of the crew.
Just look at the presents he pulled from his sacks,
Inside was there anything that he did not lack?
As he emptied his sacks, he called for some more,
These items must last them till next they make shore.
New blades for their razors, oh now what a treat!
Come next inspection they all would look neat.
“Here’s Aqua Velva,” he said with a wink,
“But this is for lotion, and isn’t to drink.”
“Cans of Quinsana, for embarrassing itch,
For those who will need this, you know whom is which.”
“And here’s pocket books racy, just what you need,
To replace those old ‘worn-outs’ too ragged to read.”
“And next time for Mog Mog, here’s baseballs and mitts,
Just think of me kindly when catching fly hits.”
“My visit’s now over, I’ve more ships to see,
And I’ll visit them each, even if only briefly.”
His escorts then came back to assure his safe flight,
And away they all flew into darkness of night.
But heard on the squawk box, as they flew out of sight,
“Merry Christmas to all – and to all a safe fight!”
